The Night Market is a place that Anatoly doubts he will ever tire of.
The air is rife with secrets, hidden amongst the hawked wares and buyers’ purses. Lovers brush against each other, exchanging notes and passing smiles as their parents or partners or children look obliviously past. Here and there pockets sit empty amongst the cobblestone where a canny thief has worked loose one of the many gleaming gems (Ana would not be surprised if half the coloured jewels were convincing fakes after so long a history).
And fire. For the rift that Caligo had torn between herself and her siblings, he can appreciate the warmth and light that burns everlasting in twisting iron lamps and the humble, urchin made bonfire. Night turns to day and day to night until you can scarcely tell the difference under the flames. How odd, how enchanting, that here in the heart of the Night Court’s capitol, in Caligo’s hard won shelter, light is grasped to more desperately than in any Day Court settlement.
Ah, but he’s not here to walk amongst the shopkeepers and customers, not here to listen to the whispers of the Denocte people. Tales had been told of some secret far more interesting than that of the common troubles and King Raum’s reign. He had wandered the streets, on and off again, wondering, but nothing had caught him as out of place, nothing had struck him as intriguing. And so he had bowed to the rumour's truth: no one found what they were looking for in Denocte’s Markets – it found them.
And find him it had, some mornings past. A green-eyed girl with a deft touch and a playing card gifted rather than stolen. A mystery he thought of but had no great anxiety to solve. It had waited until he wasn’t looking to offer it’s secrets, what was a day or two more until the great unveiling but a final drum roll?
So it was dusk that saw him stepping down a quiet street, dark of torches and lacking glimmer. That saw him arrive in front of ivory domes that make him think of the home he slipped in and out of like a thief (like he didn’t long for sun on his back and sand beneath his hooves). The door opens wide with a touch of the card, some magic turning it into a key, and he grins as he slips into the darkness.
The Night Court was a place of light, but here, in a shadowed monument to Solterra, darkness reigned. And what did that say?
Contradictions and mystery: Anatoly is charmed.
For tonight, revelry and luck hold no interest, so he slips away from the noise of the floor, works his way to the lounge (twisting up, grasping for the starlit candles far above his head) where he finds a woman, smiling an entertainer’s/politician’s/confidante’s smile. (A woman who taunts, and teases, knowledge and mischief all wrapped in a gleaming gold package.)
Anatoly meets her eyes, lowering himself into an opposite throne of pillows, and smiles back.
Hope you don't mind me jumping in! This just screamed for Anatoly c: Also, I could not figure out how to tag her, sorry!
The air is rife with secrets, hidden amongst the hawked wares and buyers’ purses. Lovers brush against each other, exchanging notes and passing smiles as their parents or partners or children look obliviously past. Here and there pockets sit empty amongst the cobblestone where a canny thief has worked loose one of the many gleaming gems (Ana would not be surprised if half the coloured jewels were convincing fakes after so long a history).
And fire. For the rift that Caligo had torn between herself and her siblings, he can appreciate the warmth and light that burns everlasting in twisting iron lamps and the humble, urchin made bonfire. Night turns to day and day to night until you can scarcely tell the difference under the flames. How odd, how enchanting, that here in the heart of the Night Court’s capitol, in Caligo’s hard won shelter, light is grasped to more desperately than in any Day Court settlement.
Ah, but he’s not here to walk amongst the shopkeepers and customers, not here to listen to the whispers of the Denocte people. Tales had been told of some secret far more interesting than that of the common troubles and King Raum’s reign. He had wandered the streets, on and off again, wondering, but nothing had caught him as out of place, nothing had struck him as intriguing. And so he had bowed to the rumour's truth: no one found what they were looking for in Denocte’s Markets – it found them.
And find him it had, some mornings past. A green-eyed girl with a deft touch and a playing card gifted rather than stolen. A mystery he thought of but had no great anxiety to solve. It had waited until he wasn’t looking to offer it’s secrets, what was a day or two more until the great unveiling but a final drum roll?
So it was dusk that saw him stepping down a quiet street, dark of torches and lacking glimmer. That saw him arrive in front of ivory domes that make him think of the home he slipped in and out of like a thief (like he didn’t long for sun on his back and sand beneath his hooves). The door opens wide with a touch of the card, some magic turning it into a key, and he grins as he slips into the darkness.
The Night Court was a place of light, but here, in a shadowed monument to Solterra, darkness reigned. And what did that say?
Contradictions and mystery: Anatoly is charmed.
For tonight, revelry and luck hold no interest, so he slips away from the noise of the floor, works his way to the lounge (twisting up, grasping for the starlit candles far above his head) where he finds a woman, smiling an entertainer’s/politician’s/confidante’s smile. (A woman who taunts, and teases, knowledge and mischief all wrapped in a gleaming gold package.)
Anatoly meets her eyes, lowering himself into an opposite throne of pillows, and smiles back.
Hope you don't mind me jumping in! This just screamed for Anatoly c: Also, I could not figure out how to tag her, sorry!
